Miracle Grow

Inside dragging through the pastels of the dusty room she slidesher glass half empty of mother’s ruinonto a table its tears falling downto the surface. They gather in a poolon the unfinished stain of the wood.Sinking downinto a rocking chair, she reaches out to touch the vacant crib beside her.

Looking past it,outside the hazy windowshe rubs her temple as she regards a tiny green leafstraining for the sun.

I read this a little differently, I see her as the resurrection
mother, turning the vacant back into life, but Wickedly beautiful is right, the picture is vivid in the mind with her frail but humble being, taking a short break from the task and...

I read this a little differently, I see her as the resurrection
mother, turning the vacant back into life, but Wickedly beautiful is right, the picture is vivid in the mind with her frail but humble being, taking a short break from the task and having a drink with patience, enduring this life with the planting of life. I love this woman and I love how you gave "HER" life.

I agree with both wicked and vango in that the mood you set is quite vivid. I see a downward spiral of depression here, beginning with barren, then skeleton, then further on down "sinking down into a rocking chair." Words like ruin, tears, and...

I agree with both wicked and vango in that the mood you set is quite vivid. I see a downward spiral of depression here, beginning with barren, then skeleton, then further on down "sinking down into a rocking chair." Words like ruin, tears, and unfinished. I see a lost child and despair, and the small hint of hope at the end is as hope often is, barely there, just clinging by a finger nail. Then again I may be totally wrong here, but it is the sense I take from the piece.

Alberto read it as was intended, but that's just one of the many beauties of poetry--the freedom of interpretation. Once it leaves the author it is what the diverse reader makes of it. Thanks for the compliments and thanks reading, guys.